


you should see me in a crown

by skrillwritesstuff



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Post End of Time, Post Reichenbach, Psychos in love, au i guess, i grinned like an idiot while writing this, i turn into a cheesy sappy moron when i write about my ships can you tell, just me drabbling haha, moriarty is like... the only person who can call the master harold and live, the suicide was faked, two disaster gays are gonna see the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 16:45:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19445506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skrillwritesstuff/pseuds/skrillwritesstuff
Summary: It's never fun when the smell of the blood you used to fake your death attracts a starving alien, who you may or may not have been online dating with... right??





	you should see me in a crown

Night had fallen over London. The best detective of the century was apparently dead, and his faithful companion was busy sobbing his eyes out in their shared flat. If you had a highly developed sense of smell, you could detect the reek of blood, filling the air, entrancing your senses, making your mouth water with anticipation. Practically nobody had these senses. Nobody except a short figure standing atop a roof. He stared at a fixed point, a hospital roof that was three streets across from him. It'd take about ten minutes for him to get there the normal way. If he used certain shortcuts, it'd take only five.

On said hospital rooftop, a man stood up, trying to ignore the feeling of pig's blood dripping down the back of his head. It was a rather messy, disgusting way of faking suicide, but it was effective. When his competitor had jumped off the roof, it'd taken all of his effort to not look over the ledge, watching the body hit the ground and shatter. Like he'd thought, the police were too busy with Holmes' body to deal with his. Now all that was left to do was change his name and rejoin society. Ordinary people were fools. They'd eaten up the story about him being "Richard Brooks", an innocent actor who'd been hired to be the villain of a quite ridiculous mystery. He paused and slowly picked up the gun he'd used to fake his death. There were only blanks in it, but whoever was responsible for the feeling he was being watched wouldn't know that.

A tiny, quiet voice in his head told him this had quickly turned into a bad idea. He'd thought the man was dead. But no, this man was very clearly alive and he had a gun. In the Master's experience, guns were not that great. Especially when they were being used against you. But still, he was _starving._ Maybe if he got behind this guy... He took a step closer, staying in the shadows. The man turned to face him. Interesting. He was completely silent, and he was sure humans weren't able to pick up on the odor of death, decay and rotting blood on him... at least not until it was too late. "Come out, come out, whoever you are! It'd be a shame if I had to kill you without getting to watch." It was amusing, and he instinctually let out a sharp, harsh bark of laughter. "Oh, now that's comedy, isn't it? Imagine, a filthy, nasty, _rotten_ human killing me? It's bloody hilarious! Tell me, who do you think you are, human? I'd like to know what kind of midnight snack dares to threaten me."

Midnight snack? He was dealing with a cannibal then, and by the fact that he was referring to him as a human, implying he wasn't one himself, meant he was delusional. He could deal with a delusional cannibal. He cocked the gun, pointing it where the voice had come from. "Oh, come now? Haven't you seen the televised trial? You haven't heard of the world's only consulting criminal." A growl escaped the shadows. Was that a sillhouette. "Consulting criminal... Is that supposed to impress me? All humans are the same. Cancer in a more fleshy form." Interesting. This fellow clearly was a complete psycho, but he seemed to be more than the usual nutter, though. A bright, blueish-white light pulsed for a moment, illuminating what looked like a skeleton in a hoodie, it's deathly grin full of razor-sharp teeth. Even more interesting.

Curse this stupid body. Cursing him with eternal starvation and then giving him away to an armed victim. Wonderful. He hissed in fury. The armed man looked at him calmly and cooly. "But I'll humor you. Moriarty. Jim Moriarty. I'd like to know who you are, though. Faking your own death doesn't really put you in the mood to dig through the Internet to find out who you're pretending to be." If he was the sentimental type, like the Doctor -don'tthinkabouthimdon'tthinkabouthim- he'd care about what they'd been through together. He wasn't the sentimental type, however. "You're a bold one, aren't you, James. Much more interesting than my previous meals. All they did was beg and moan and plead. You're actually trying to make conversation." He stepped out of the shadows.

The man who emerged from the shadows was not in fact a skeleton. He looked fairly young, about mid-twenties, his scruffy mop of blond hair growing over one eye. The ratty hoodie he wore was caked and stained with dried blood and the stench of corpses surrounded him. He couldn't stifle a laugh. "You- You're- Oh, this is too good!" The man glared up at him. "Don't you dare say what I know hat you're about to say." "Harold Saxon- I've been threatened by Harold _bloody_ Saxon!" In an instant he was on the floor, the irate ex-Prime Minister on top of him. He simply smirked. "My, you're eager." That earned a furious hiss. "Shut. Up. Now. You're a utter bastard, Jim. You know that's not who I am." The words were spoken almost as if this man knew him. "Who are you, then? Several sources suggest that 'Mr. Saxon' is an alien." A hand closed around his windpipe, surprisingly strong for such a weak-looking and sickly man. "You know I am. You know exactly what I-" He paused. "Oh. OH. Yes, now I remember. Or, rather, you _don't._ " He released Moriarty and stood up, looking down at him. "Shame. I thought you'd remember your Master." A jolt of recognition. The texts. The mysterious texts that detailed plans for a satellite system, the Archangel network. The texts had started out as a simple relationship between the designer and the one who could make it happen. And then they'd devolved into flirting. Shameless, utterly awful attempts at least. "Well. I didn't know I'd been hired by the Prime Minister. I'd have charged more if I knew." Another hiss, less of fury than of annoyance.

"No, you wouldn't. You'd have died." He turned away and heard a click. He didn't bother looking back. "You wouldn't, I know you wouldn't. You're a sucker for an intelligent man, aren't you? Willing to do anything to relieve the endless monotony of life." He turned back and extended his hand. This was ridiculous. This was the kind of thing the Doctor would do, wasn't it. Pathetic. "I could show you the universe. We could be kings." The gun fired. Nothing happened. And Moriarty extended his own hand, and they shook. "We could be kings? Well, I think..." He pulled the Master closer. "I think that you should see me in a crown." Despite how idiotic and cheesy and how _damned_ human this all was, he felt a toothy grin spreading on his face. "And I think that I'd like to see that."

**Author's Note:**

> psychos in love is my favorite trope. i'm sorry that i plagued y'all with this.


End file.
